My love for Moore is a little gnarled. A little bent and unusual. It’s cloudy like the sky I adore so much. Volatile. But it’s mine. I miss it. I want and need and crave it. I can say that now with the confidence of someone who is walking her own path. I’ve created a life for myself. I’m free of pain and violence. I’m at peace. I’m incomplete, though. My other half is missing and the more time that passes, the more I limp along. The more my heart feels like a hollowed out husk. This love isn’t going away. It’s growing heavier, like weight being added to my chest, making it harder and harder to
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